gods country

god’s country


years ago

i dreamed at night of missed deadlines.

lost papers and

frustrated longings,

a need to bust out of the confines

of a business suit,

nightmares of sadness,

and fear that the veneer

of perfection

invested in so heavily

would crack

and someone would know the truth

about me


now, years later

I dream at night of missed deadlines

bill unpaid and

mistakes made,

frustrated longings to be heard

amidst the noise of the crowd,

sadness and fear

that others would never know

the truth about themselves

and that i am incapable

of revealing it


somewhere, along the way,

on the road between

being boxed in

and living outside the box

there was a mountain


not one, or two, but many

so tremendous in their presence

photographs could not capture their essence

a journey across the continent

an experience of vastness

previously unmet on the tiny island of concrete


in a land of blue skies that never ended

for miles

and miles and miles and miles

red rocks, crashing rapids

kind waitresses serving home fries

in rural diners



first west and then east

one day

an endless river

monarch butterflies

crossing my path

en-route to the warmth of southern skies

(is it good luck,

I wondered then,

to be

in the presence of a miracle?)



god’s country on the outside

inviting surrender, an opening, to

god’s country in the inside

a willingness to take those mountains into the heart

and find that they already existed there


this mountain

those butterflies

those rapids

delicious home fries

created maybe in a day

by a love so huge that this was all in a weeks work

or maybe less, or maybe more


this body, a billion cells

muscle, tissue, bone, and blood

interacting in an unmappable


a tiny microcosm of the beauty

of the infinite “out there”


humility revealing itself to be

not a sense of smallness

in the presence

of that vastness


but rather a sense of

belonging to that vastness


created by love in a day

maybe more

how could one not be humbled that

the love that created a mountain

pulsed blood in our veins

and created each of us

somewhat different than the rest


not an accident!


this one full of heart and frankness,

that one short, stout and easy going

another beautiful, brilliant and a prisoner of pridefulness

that one a little curmudgeonly but full of generous determination

another fearful, sweet and sincere


how could there be a mistake in this?

it would be like saying those mountains are too big!

or that Don Giovanni has too many notes



revealing itself as

not making less of ourselves,

but rather

the opposite-

a willingness to

to open ourselves large enough

to receive a gift –


an experience of the magnificent perfection

of all that is.


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